


Alone or Lonely

by CruelBeauty



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Chronological, Going through Sherlock's life, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 09:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14282085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruelBeauty/pseuds/CruelBeauty
Summary: Sherlock hadn’t been lonely in so long he couldn’t remember the last time.A study of Sherlock being alone through his life at different ages.





	Alone or Lonely

Sherlock hadn’t been lonely in so long he couldn’t remember the last time. Perhaps when he was 7 or 8, sitting in his room quietly, wondering why his parents were never home. Maybe it was when his two friends were making plans in front of him as he watched quietly. It could be when they would all go for a walk and the sidewalk would narrow and he suddenly was walking behind them instead of beside. It could have been the first time he was called annoying, his heart dropping and his blood running cold despite his face bright red in shame and he escaped to the bathroom to cry in the closed stall.

He can’t really remember.

His teenage years were spent alone. Mycroft had gone off to a different school, glad to escape his parents. The few friends he had in his early years had gone off and made better friends that they actually invited to things. His relationship with his parents only seemed to get worse as time went on. The house always seemed to have a tension that lingered in the air.

At 15 he sat at his desk, a textbook in front of him as he tried to ignore the noises. It was Valentine’s day and the people around him were discussing their plans for the day. He put in his earbuds and turned up the music as loud as it went, for some reason he didn’t feel the tear that ran down his face. Only noticing it when it dropped on his textbook on relationships, only seeming to mock him further.

With a pencil clutched in his hand and cold tears on his skin he realized he only felt numb. He is going to always be alone, there is no point in being sad about it.

He went to college at 16. He had his own room, his own space.

It seemed like the silence somehow felt even more silent despite the sounds of laughter and giggling next door.

Every time he left his room to get food he kept his head down, ignored the people all around him in groups. He would gather food and bring it back to his room, closing the door behind him. He would put on violin music and eat his food, staring at the blank wall in front of him. The girl next door laughing even louder than normal it seemed.

Once in class at 18, he can’t even recall what it was for anymore, he was paired with a young girl and he had to go through his day to day routine. He hadn’t noticed at first how her face grew more sad as he continued and she would prompt, “So you don’t hang out with friends on the weekends or eat together or anything?” He would shake his head every time except to say once, “Well I do leave my room occasionally on the weekend to do laundry.”

Sherlock supposes when he looks back that he did feel a small pang in his heart at that moment, but not truly. He hadn’t even really noticed.

He graduated at 20. No one showed up. No one clapped when his name was called. No cameras flashed. Even then he didn’t feel lonely, only a small amount of pride at being done with it all.

Sherlock got his first apartment on his own at 21. Ignoring the man showing him the place, warning him to not have too many parties. As if Sherlock Holmes would ever be one of those people laughing so loudly and for so long the police get called.

At 24 he briefly made friends with a young girl in rehab with him. She always looked at him with pity but genuinely seemed to like him.

When he was 26 Sherlock moved to a new apartment after beginning a new job with the Yard. 

In a most unpredictable move at 27 he acquired a roommate by the name of John Watson.

Sherlock couldn’t believe himself when he opened the door at 28 to show Lestrade with a frown. “I don’t know what you two are up to but I have had several noise complaints, they said it sounded like a party. Keep the noise down before I have to bring you in, which no doubt Donovan would love.” Lestrade smiled and peered over to see John with a bright smile, a drink in his hand.

“Don’t worry, Greg. We’ll keep it down.” John reassured him with a wave of the hand.

“Have a good night.” Lestrade said with a wink before leaving, unaware of the gears turning in Sherlock’s mind.

Sherlock closed the door, a small grin on his face.

John began laughing again. “I can’t believe we laughed so much we got a noise complaint. And you’ve shot walls before without complaint.” John said, his face bright and open.

Sherlock settled back in across from John, he couldn’t stop himself from scanning John’s face. He was actually happy, he was laughing that much because of him. Not at him. But with him.

John reached for Sherlock’s glass along with his and refilled it. “Tell me more stories.” John said with a smile on his face.

Sherlock took the glass, his hands shaking just slightly. “Of course, John.”

At 29 he was alone, the cold mattress doing nothing for his back. He looked at the cracked ceiling, longing for his normal spot on the couch, John next to him rambling about something. Anything. He would give anything to just spend a few minutes in his presence, have John yell at him about an experiment or tell him about a child at the clinic. Anything but the silence. The crushing silence.

He rolled over, his long hair hanging over his eyes. He could feel the sob building up in his chest. He clutched the weirdly stained pillow to his chest wishing more than anything it was John. He knows he had to leave John in order to protect him but he never thought it would be so hard. It had never been so hard before. 

Was this loneliness?

At 31 Sherlock experienced the greatest amount of relief and disappointment ever in his life. Of course he was married. Why would he not be? They never got around to talking about dating, and even if they had there as no reason to why John would randomly wait two years in order to start dating again.

When Sherlock was 32 he was sitting alone at 221B, John’s chair empty across from him. He hadn’t heard from him in a couple months. Busy with his wife. Busy with his life. Busy with things other than him.

John hesitantly moved back to Baker Street when Sherlock was 33. John brought with him one baby girl with no mother. Despite the circumstances Sherlock couldn’t help but feel more happy than he had in years.

It seemed like the flat was overflowing with sound and Sherlock secretly loved it. There was always a sound from Rosie or from John. He forgot how much he just loved hearing John move around as he read the paper or made tea.

John constantly apologized about the sound, thinking it would annoy him. Sherlock told him he didn’t mind, he couldn’t begin to think how to explain how warm it makes him feel.

On his 34th birthday Rosie was with Mrs Hudson, it was just John and him. They sat together, drinks in hand. It reminded him so much of a few years ago when Lestrade was called to get them to stop laughing. That was six years ago. It seems so long ago.

Laughs were just as frequent as then. The alcohol was just as good. It all felt so similar except when he really started to observe. John’s hair was longer, it was more silver. He had more lines around his eyes. If he really listened closely he could hear Rosie crying downstairs.

John finished laughing at one of his stories and refilled his glass. He raised it up in a mock toast. “To the greatest man I have ever known.” John said with a smile.

“I can say the same of you.” Sherlock replied, a blush rising to his cheeks.

John gave him a soft smile and took a drink before setting his glass down. His body was warm and loose, they seemed to shift closer and closer together with every passing minute. “John.” Sherlock breathed softly as John’s hand rested on his knee.

John looked at his lips before meeting his eyes. Sherlock gave a small nod. John moved forward slowly and gently pressed his lips against Sherlock’s, a hand coming to rest gently against his cheek. At 34 he realized he was in love.

At 35 Sherlock was sitting on the ground with John and Rosie at Christmas. “Well I will start cleaning up.” Sherlock said before John grabbed his wrist.

“Actually, I have one more gift for you. Wait right here.” John said, leaving Sherlock with Rosie. He gently picked her up and set her in his lap. 

Sherlock cooed gently to Rosie as John got whatever his mystery gift was. For once he actually wasn’t sure what it was. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.” John said behind him.

Sherlock huffed but complied. He felt something light in his hands and opened his eyes. His eyes quickly scanned the packet in front of him.

Sherlock took in a sharp breath, tears collecting in his eyes. “John. Are you sure?”

“Rosie is already yours but I wanted to make it official. All you have to do is sign and she will officially be yours.” John said, settling down next to him, a hand wrapped around his waist. 

When Sherlock was 35 he officially became a father to an amazing little girl.

At 36 Sherlock got married to the love of his life, his daughter in a frilly dress watching from the sides with Mrs Hudson. Lestrade, Molly, and Mike sat in the front rows. Mycroft even showed up.

When he settled into bed that night with John he couldn’t stop the way his heart clenched as he watched John get ready for bed like normal. He couldn’t stop staring at the way the gold band glittered on his hand. He never could have imagined this is what his life would become when he was 16 at college, staring at the beige wall, wondering what life held for him. He never could have imaged John Watson even existed. 

“John?”

“Yes, love?” John asked, peeking his head around the bathroom wall.

“I am incredibly happy.” Sherlock said simply.

John gave a big smile and turned off the bathroom light, raising the sheet to get under the covers with him. “I am too. I really am.” John said before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

At 36 years old, Sherlock Watson-Holmes realized a few things. 1) It’s okay to be lonely, 2) It isn’t permanent, 3) It’s okay to not have met all of your friends and the love of your life when you are 20, and 4) He was never going to be lonely again.

For once in his life Sherlock can say he was glad to be wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read this thanks! Drop a kudos or comment. If you have a request feel free to comment that as well.
> 
> Basically this was just inspired by what I have kind of been feeling. I feel like there is so much pressure to have a bunch of friends and have met your husband/wife at 20 and it can be a lot to handle. I felt like Sherlock was good for this fic because I think he would be a good example of someone who probably didn't thrive when he was a teenager and had difficulty making friends compared to John. It's okay to not be really happy about where you are at right now in life. You have time. It's alright to not get married until you're 30's or 40's. Try and take it easy and good luck.


End file.
